Chapter Text
They walk the last few feet to the carriage, where Tim hoists him inside and ensures he is comfortable before seating himself across from him. Conner allows himself to slump in his seat as he listens to the coachman situate himself up front, but jumps when he remembers:
“We cannot leave without your sister.”
Tim looks far too unconcerned as he says, “There is no need to worry about her.”
Conner raises a brow expectantly, and Tim explains, “The Brown carriage was gone, so my sister likely accompanied Steph to her home as they usually do after events such as these. And if Stephanie had left without her, Cass would have been waiting for us outside of this carriage.”
Conner relaxes after Tim reassures him, putting all of his weight in his corner of the carriage, his injuries becoming harder to ignore by the moment.
He may have been lying a little bit about how much pain he was in.
The carriage jolts, starting its path to the palace, which also throws Conner forward and slams him back against the corner.
Alright, maybe he had been lying a lot about how much pain he was in. His ankle was throbbing, and his pant leg was offering no help as it rubbed against the fresh scar. And while he deeply appreciated Tim’s help with carrying him back to the carriage, Conner had been mustering every bit of willpower to hide the increasing pain near his ribs. After being tossed around within the carriage, the pain was pulsing through his abdomen.
As much as he hated the idea of Tim helping him with something Conner was directly responsible for, the pain was just too much to not accept such a gracious offer. He could find some extravagant way to thank him later. But for now, whatever ‘royalty treatments’ Tim had planned for him at the palace sounded heavenly.
After what felt like an eternity, the carriage finally slowed, pulling up to the palace walkway. Tim exited first, reaching out his arms to assist Conner in any way he needed. They returned to their previous position before the ride, Conner’s arm draped across Tim’s shoulder as he leaned onto him for support. He was scared at first that Tim would be struggling under his weight, but the man was shockingly sturdy. Tim carried Conner without even a strain in his face—completely unfazed.
Conner thought it was very impressive.
When they reached the palace doors, the usual older gentleman was not there to greet them. Instead stood one of Tim’s brothers, a middle-aged man with dark wavy hair, tan skin, and deep blue eyes. Conner is sure they have met, his name sitting on the tip of his tongue
“Dick?” Ah. There it is. “Where is Alfred?” Tim questions, shouldering past his brother, bringing Conner with him into the foyer.
Dick carefully looks between the two of them, “B gave him the rest of the day off. Why? Is something wrong?”
Tim turns, taking Conner to the staircase. “Nothing I am incapable of doing myself. No need to worry.”
Dick follows behind them. “Are you sure there is nothing I can help with?”
Tim groans softly, “We can manage.”
Dick does not relent, so Conner turns around to assure him, “Only a sprained ankle.” Offering him a playful salute.
That seems to satisfy Dick, as he turns back down the stairs, “Alright, but I will be here if you need anything.” He calls up as Tim turns the corner at the top of the staircase down a hallway lined with portraits.
“I have some basic medical supplies tucked away in my bedchambers, so we can take care of your ankle there.”
Conner snorts, “Of course, Prince Timothy Wayne would be prepared for an event like this.”
Tim does not offer a retort, but Conner can see the slight upturn of his lips.
The paintings lining this hallway are very similar to the ones he saw the last time he was in the palace. The same people in different poses with different outfits. Tim starts to slow their steps as they approach a door near the end of the hallway. Just across from them, currently, is a portrait of someone Conner recognizes.
“Is that your mother?” He watches Tim carefully for his response.
Tim spares the portrait a brief, impassive glance.
“Yes.” His confirmation sounds ever so slightly strained. “That is the late Queen.” The change in his voice was so miniscule to the point that unless you were paying close attention, nothing would seem out of the ordinary. But Conner was fixated, hanging on to every breath Tim was taking.
So, that was a ‘no’.
He has an internal celebration, insanely proud of himself for being able to solve Tim’s illegitimacy. If the Queen is not his birth-parent, then it has to be the King. In retrospect, he should have been able to guess that based on how similar they looked. Now the final hurdle was to get Tim comfortable enough to admit it to him.
He strolled alongside Tim with a new pep in his step, sitting carefully on the bed where he was told, and waiting patiently for his ankle to get taken care of. The sun is setting outside of the window, darkening the room a bit, leaving just the golden candlelight.
Tim comes back into the room after a few minutes with a pail of cold water, setting it down at Conner’s feet. While there, he starts to take off Conner’s shoe as well.
“Rob, stop. I am not so helpless that I am unable to remove my own shoes.” He reaches his hand down, only for it to get slapped away. Tim’s focus is unrelenting on his shoes, and Conner swears he can see him smirking.
“You little-”
This time, he bends at the waist to easily overpower Tim in their new ‘competition’, but is reminded of his abdominal injury, letting out a sharp groan as he brings his hand to hold his right side.
Only then does Tim stop what he is doing, examining Conner again, eyes darting to the hand currently cupping his side and offering a disapproving eyebrow raise.
Conner rolls his eyes and tries to assure him, “s’just sore.”
Tim places Conner’s foot into the pail of water, crawls forward, situating himself between Conner’s legs as he unbuttons Conner’s waistcoat and lifts his shirt at an inhuman speed.
“There is a very evident bruise.” He points out with the slightest bit of annoyance.
He gives no warning before he starts palpitating around the bruise.
Conner hisses at the initial contact, “Jesus Christ, your hands are still freezing from the water!”
“Then they will help reduce the swelling.” Tim deadpans.
He lets out a small laugh in disbelief, watching intently as Tim drifts his hands across his exposed abdomen. Tim is now carefully touching his chest, lingering over his stomach and paying close attention to the bruised area, being extra gentle with his touch when near it. His eyes are raking over every bit of Conner, examining him, mentally dissecting him.
The light grazing of Tim’s fingers is causing his pulse to stutter; those cold hands making him painfully aware of how warm he is now, chills trailing down his spine at every light scrape of Tim’s nails. His breath hitches much louder than intended when one of Tim’s fingers gently brushes his hip, just above the waistline of his pants. A deep shade of red traces his cheeks, praying to God that Tim accounts the sound he made to ‘cold hands’.
“Well, nothing feels broken, but you should definitely be on bed rest.”
Tim returns to taking care of Conner’s ankle, his bruised ribs pushed aside. He retains his focus on wiping up the now dried blood on Conner’s leg and wrapping said ankle snugly with bandages.
Conner stays silent and seated on the edge of the bed, closely following Tim’s movements with his eyes.
Once his ankle is wrapped, Tim lifts it, shoving Conner further onto the bed and placing a pillow under his foot.
“Keep this elevated while I retrieve something to treat the pain.” He gives him a stern, yet caring look and does not budge until Conner returns him a signal of confirmation.
After Tim has left the room, Conner lets himself fall back onto the bed, lying down and throwing his hands over his face. It would be nice if, for once, he could spend a day with Tim and be able to act in his right-mind. He’s never going to find an answer as to why he affects him in such a way. How that stubborn, neurotic, endearing smartass can shut down Kon’s nervous system with such simple actions. What could you even call these feelings? Wonder? Admiration? Jealousy?
He groans. None of those felt quite right. Admiration, maybe, but there was still a missing piece that desperately needed to be able to see the full picture. Perhaps the solution would present itself if he just got better acquainted with Tim? That could work. There is the matter of getting Tim to explain his parentage, so he should probably start with that since he already has the answer. He just needs to hear Tim say it.
The door swings open, and Tim marches in holding a bottle that he was carefully reading. “Alright, the only thing I could find for pain relief was some laudanum.” He pours a bit of the burgundy liquid into a cup, holding it in front of Conner’s face. “Not well-renowned for its taste.”
Conner sits back up, taking the glass in hand and getting a waft of the harsh scent. He offers Tim a protesting glare before taking a breath and shooting the liquid down. He coughs after swallowing, the bitter, acidic taste coating his throat.
“Smooth.” He wheezes out, “Tastes like regret with a dash of vinegar.” He returns the glass to Tim, dropping it in his hands as if it had just bitten him.
Tim snickers softly as he turns to place the glass on the desk at the other side of the room.
Conner watches him from the bed, examining Tim’s bedchambers, eyes resting upon a few sheets of paper situated in the corner of his desk.
An opportunity to get Tim to open up is presenting itself beautifully.
“Do your brothers write to you?”
Tim turns around to look at Kon with a raised brow. “Not often.” He responds with a hinted question in the tone of his voice.
Conner nods over to the papers, bringing them to Tim’s attention. Tim sighs once he catches on, taking the papers in hand, “These are not letters; my father provided me with a very in-depth schedule for my ‘marital prospects’ this season.” He looks at the papers with a slight disdain.
Conner sits up straighter, holding his hand out, voice dripping with interest. “Care to share?”
Hesitantly, Tim walks toward Conner, handing him the papers and watching with dread.
Conner is silent as he looks at the paper, leaving Tim to stew in his strained state. He lifts his head to gaze at Tim again.
“I have no idea who any of these women are.” He says, placing the schedule back in Tim’s hand.
Tim takes it, the tension falling off his shoulders as he chuckles. “I do not recognize most of the names myself.”
“Is that what you were referencing the other day? The ‘endless courtships’ you were preoccupied with.”
Tim sighs as he nods, “Indeed.”
Conner scoots closer to the edge of the bed, keeping his injured foot elevated while the rest of his body acts in interest. The laudanum was slowly taking effect, easing the pain in his abdomen and making him feel a bit fuzzy.
“Have any of these fair ladies caught your eye?” He smirks when Tim’s face turns a light pink as he scowls at Kon.
Tim relents, seating himself next to Conner on the bed, “There was one, but…” He visibly cringes, “Her father hates me.”
“You have already met her father? Was the courtship that successful?” He nudges Tim’s arm playfully, eliciting a chuckle and eyeroll.
“No, it was just the one meeting; he had accompanied her to our morning call.” He pauses for a moment, seeming to be choosing his next words carefully. “But she was pleasant to talk to. I suppose I could just ignore her father's hatred and continue pursuing her.” Tim shrugs, trying his best to act casual.
A pang hits Conner’s heart as he listens to Tim talk about his courtships. He desperately wants to change the topic, but attempts a sincere smile instead. Tim must have noticed the strain in his expression because he very suddenly went quiet, posture going stiff, and avoiding eye contact.
Thick silence falls between them, Conner’s head becoming lighter, and his eyes heavier. This laudanum was some strong stuff. His mind is trudging through possible conversation topics, but all of them are a bit muddy.
What else can he try to get Tim to talk about his family?
He feels the words, “My brother writes to me incessantly,” leaving his mouth before he can process. There is a minor slur in his voice as he feels his muscles loosening.
Maybe opening up a bit himself will help Tim.
Tim snorts beside him (Conner thinks he likes that sound), bumping their shoulders together. “Is that laudanum hitting?”
He nods, offering a hum for confirmation.
He cannot see Tim’s face, but the grin is evident in the sound of his voice. Conner has his eyes closed, relishing in the airy feeling spreading through his body.
Another beat of silence passes.
“You have a brother?” Tim questions from beside him.
“Younger. He's my only sibling.” Conner opens his eyes again to look at Tim and is greeted with that cheeky smile he just cannot seem to get enough of.
“He was just about to start University before I got…” He scowls, an annoyed huff of breath escaping.
“Abducted?” Tim offers playfully, causing Conner to chuckle.
His eyes start drifting closed again as more fuzz dances around his brain. “I miss them.” He whispers. The lightness is taking over his body, and he starts leaning to the side, his head eventually falling onto what feels like Tim’s shoulder. There is a minor flinch from Tim underneath him, but then a warm hand wraps behind him, resting atop his shoulder. It feels nice.
“He looks just like his Mother.” He says before taking a moment to ponder, and adding, “I look nothing like her.”
Tim stays silent beside him, his hand now moving up and down his arm in a comforting manner. Conner continues, savoring the warmth of the man beside him.
“I suppose it makes sense we do not share any resemblance. But… I-” He sighs mournfully, “It feels like a disservice to the woman who raised me. The woman who was fully aware of the identity of my real mother, and took me in anyway.”
Tim speaks softly beside him, “If you do not mind me asking, why did the Duchess leave you with your father?”
Conner shrugs, still not fully convinced of the reasoning himself. “They say she did it so I would not be burdened with a high-society life.” He exhales sharply, “You can see how well that turned out.”
Conner can feel himself drifting, the thick air of exhaustion slowly taking over him. He is just about to fall asleep when Tim whispers next to him. “Well, I for one am grateful we could become acquainted.”
A smile traces Conner’s lips at the words, “Thanks,” he whispers back.
He brings Tim into an awkward side hug with his leg still elevated on the pillow, trying to envelop himself in Tim’s warmth. “‘M glad too.” He mumbles into the crook of Tim’s neck.
Conner is vaguely aware of Tim tensing beneath him, but he relaxes just as quickly, wrapping an arm around Conner and bringing his other hand to stroke his hair. All he remembers before drifting off is the comforting sensation of Tim’s fingers carding through his curls.
When he wakes up again, the room is fully illuminated by the sun. And once his eyes are open, he is met with the sight of Tim, very close to his face. His brain is still playing catch-up as he slowly comes into consciousness, just barely aware of the position he is in. He has one arm draped over Tim’s front, the other has become numb underneath the pillow Tim’s head is resting on.
Despite the sheer embarrassment washing over him, Conner stays huddled against Tim’s side, watching him sleep, and following the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes softly beside him. The morning light is dancing across Tim’s face, highlighting the moles dispersed on his cheeks and in the corner of his eye. His thin, pale lips parted ever so slightly as soft snores escaped.
Then a soreness in his neck becomes more apparent, and as he moves his head around, he realizes that Tim’s arm is underneath him.
Conner slowly snakes his arm out from underneath Tim’s pillow, rising gently to a sitting position on the bed, trying to stretch out his neck. When he sits up, the pain in his side shoots through him again, groaning softly and bringing his hand to grip his side, and noticing-
He is currently shirtless. Why?
Beside his head, he can see his blouse and waistcoat folded neatly. On top of the clothing pile is a small jar with the label ‘Comfrey’.
He moves his hand to look at the bruised area, seeing a unique sheen to it, guessing that Tim must have put that comfrey ointment on it. It still hurts, but a bit less than yesterday. And the bruise had shrunken, so whatever that ointment was, it seemed to be working.
He looks over at Tim again and has to try his hardest to suppress a laugh at the sight of Tim completely starfished on the bed.
“Oi, Timbo!”
There is a muffled shout from outside the room, accompanied by footsteps growing louder and closer to the door. Conner panics, throwing himself off the bed onto his thankfully mostly painless ankle. He shuffles around the room haphazardly, searching for his shoes when the door bursts open.
“Ti- oh. Hello.”
Tim’s brother Dick is standing in the doorway, met with the sight of a shirtless, and extremely flushed Conner hunched over, just about to lift his shirt over his head.
Tim shoots up from the bed, offering Dick a very esteemed “Whassup?” as he rubs his eyes. His groggy demeanor shifts when he processes Dick’s gaze, darting between Tim and Conner, a toothy grin reaching the sparkle in his eyes.
Tim turns to the door, offering a slightly panicked, “This is not what it looks like.”
Dick just starts giggling as Tim yells at him. Conner takes the distraction as an opportunity to fully clothe himself again, sitting down on a chair across from the bed to put his shoes on.
“Christ, Dick! Did you even knock!?” Tim throws his legs over the side of the bed.
Dick scoffs, a playful tone still extremely evident. “Well, I had been calling your name for almost ten minutes and received no response.”
Tim sighs, exhaling with all the effort of a man trying not to implode. “What do you need?”
“You are supposed to visit Miss Dzerchenko at her home today. Father sent me to retrieve you and make sure you were ready.”
Conner’s heart stops as he whips his head to the clock along the wall, the face of it reading 1 o’clock.
The Duke is going to kill him.
“Christ! I have to go. I must apologize for my poor manners.”
Tim’s harshness softens looking at Kon with concern. “It is quite all right, I assure you. Would you like me to accompany you to the carriage? There should be one waiting out front to take you home.” He is already stepping out of his bed, crossing the room toward Conner.
But Conner’s bluntness stops Tim in his tracks. “No, I will be fine. You have duties here. Take care!” He dashes through the doorway, never once turning around until he finally makes it out the palace doors and to a carriage waiting out front.
Instinctively, he holds his breath as he walks in the door to the estate, apprehension dripping with every step he takes. Silence is all he receives upon entering. Strange. He pauses, a heavier anxiety taking over as he walks up the stairs. Every corner passed is an opportunity for the Duke to catch him off guard. But he makes it all the way to the entrance of his bedchambers without disturbance.
His curiosity takes over him, abandoning the door to safety in front of him, and walking directly toward the Duke’s private rooms. Passing Luthor’s bedchamber, he hears overlapping whispers. Voices he does not recognize.
He takes the handle, giving it a slow, gentle turn, met with a halt in his movement. The door is locked. He frowns, shaking the doorknob a bit more aggressively, as if pure force would will it to open.
The door swings open, his arm previously gripping the handle getting dragged a few inches into the doorway. On the other side is Luthor’s now miffed Doctor, glowering at Conner.
“Is there something you need, Lord Conner?” He raises a brow, his lips pressed in a thin line.
Conner disregards him, leaning his head to the side, trying to get a view of what is so important that is happening in the Duke’s personal room. Just past the Doctor’s shoulder, he catches a glimpse of his ghostly white ‘father’, slumped in his bed, surrounded by three other men in coats similar to the Doctor standing before him. One of the men pulls out a leech and places it on the Duke before the Doctor shrinks the doorway, leaving just a sliver for him to speak through.
Conner reluctantly brings his attention to the Doctor, “I was just curious about my father’s prolonged absence.”
The Doctor clearly does not care, waving Conner off. “The Duke is in treatment at the moment. For how long, I cannot say. But he needs complete and total privacy.” He spits out his final words before shutting and locking the door in Conner’s face.
He should have stayed at the palace.
He huffs, stomping his way back to his room to find a change of clothes. A fresh outfit adorned, and his purchased earrings tucked away, he marches to the front of the estate. If he was not needed here, there was no chance in hell he was staying of his own accord. After all, it was only 3 o’clock; there was plenty left to do in the day.
Conner runs down the steps with fervor, flagging down a coachman and requesting a ride into town. All of his previous pain is completely forgotten with his newfound freedom. This was temporary, and he had to make the most of it. Plus, his ankle felt mostly healed by now.
The second his carriage door opens, Conner is leaping out of it. He takes in a deep breath, relishing in the cool air and the sound of the bustling market. He weaves his way through the crowd, stopping every so often to silently admire the different booths and their goods. Several merchants catch him in their eye, keeping him held with stories of their product. Conner stays and listens intently to everyone. The atmosphere of the town is intoxicating, every breath filled with the candor-thick air.
Eventually, he found himself listening intently to enthralling tales from a woodworker about his trip to the Americas. In the middle of his story about having an American president visit his shop, a little girl pops out from behind him, placing a few small pieces of wood on the table. She slinks away just as quickly behind the table. The man notices where Conner’s attention has moved to, smiling softly.
He gestures for the little girl to come out to the open, her light brown hair falling in front of her face as she clings to the man’s side.
“This is my daughter,” he says fondly, reaching for the small wooden objects she placed on the table. “And these are her creations.” He holds them out in front of Conner, allowing him a clearer look at what they actually are. There is a small wooden cat and two wooden birds. One of the birds is a bit more slender with a small crest on its head, while the other is very rotund, with a beak and tail just barely poking out from the round body.
Conner takes the creations in his hand, carefully examining the rough indents of wood-carving tools. “You carved these yourself?” he asks, a sparkle of curiosity in his eyes. She nods at him, still keeping herself slightly hidden.
“Incredible.” He takes a moment to consider as he is admiring them, then inquires. “Are they for sale?”
The little girl’s green eyes go wide. She looks at her father’s beaming face, waiting for confirmation. He nods, gesturing in Conner’s direction and nudging her forward. She meets Conner’s gaze with an excited smile and eager nod.
“Is 10 alright with you?” Her father asks, eyeing his daughter for confirmation.
Conner looks between them, still holding the wooden trinkets. “How about 15?” He offers, already holding the money out in front of the little girl.
She seems frozen in shock, so Conner places the money in her hands, thanking her. She looks back up at him, and Conner can see a gap in her teeth as she grins at him, giggling and showing her father the payment she just received.
The man thanks Conner endlessly as he walks away from their booth, still smiling. He looks at the figures once again, a genuine smile tracing his lips as he hears the excited squeals of the little girl behind him. He has no idea what to do with these figurines, but God, it was worth the purchase for that girl’s smile.
Examining the figures closer, it is increasingly obvious they were created by a child. The cat’s legs are thick and uneven, and the slender bird has a lopsided beak. Yet they bring Conner an intense amount of joy. He looks at the other bird again, an idea crossing his mind. If he added a little bit of orange, one could pass it off as a robin. The idea makes him giddy, pocketing the figurines as he searches the market for some paint and brushes.
The sun has set by the time he is walking back to the carriage. The crowd in the street has drastically thinned, leaving only the occasional gentleman or lady in the soft glow of the lamplight. Chatter fills the air in every pub he walks past, most of the other shops turning off their lights and locking their doors.
Less than a mile from the carriage, one building catches his eye: The Orpheum Theater. The memory of a conversation with Princess Cassandra passes through. She mentioned that she danced ballet, and here was an opportunity to learn a bit more about that world. He promptly walks toward the entrance, allowing the gentle conversations to flow past him, taking in the decor of the building he just entered.
There was no stage in the entryway, but there were two large red curtains at the very end of the room with many small groups surrounding it. On either side of him were tables occupied by a variety of guests. Their drinks in hand while making light, brazen conversation. The gentlemen spoke unashamedly of their affairs and gambling while the women carried themselves with unseen assertiveness, only accepting what they wanted from the garish men present.
This seemed like a much more fitting crowd for him. He makes his way over to the bar, sipping his wine as he surveys the room. Most pay him no attention, except one dark-haired woman who keeps meeting his gaze. It feels as though she is undressing him with her eyes, each moment becoming harder to suppress his flush and quickened heartbeat.
A few of the performers had come out to mingle with the crowd, and all the attention was drawn to them. Everybody seemed to abandon the tables and instead began congregating around the various performers, with guests offering many unsuccessful propositions of sex and money. Including the woman previously hunting him.
After a couple more minutes of watching the crowd, a different woman at the edge of it catches his eye. Her blonde hair and scarlet dress seemed ever so slightly familiar from this distance. He takes a few steps closer, bringing her clearer into his vision, and a realization hits immediately.
“Miss Sandsmark?” He greets, excited to see a familiar face as well as a lingering embarrassment from their last interaction. But Tim said he should consider her, so he was going to try again.
She whips her head around, abrasiveness in her expression, until recognition crosses. “Lord Conner!”
She curtseys in his direction, and he bows in response.
“I am glad to see a familiar face. I have never stepped foot in a performance hall before.” He chuckles nervously.
She eyes him up and down, “I find that hard to believe. Your entire character screams ‘rake’”
He blushes, “I assure you that is far from the truth.”
She lets out an unconvinced hum, eliciting a scoff from Conner.
“Well, what does this situation say about you?” he snaps back. A hardened and dangerous look is given to him by Cassandra. His heart drops as he sputters out the last few words. “You are unchaperoned in a performance hall.”
He shrinks, embarrassment overtaking him. That seems to satisfy her as she relents her deadly glare.
“I am a spinster.” She states plainly. “Nobody cares what I do with my time.”
Conner nods in understanding, shame still keeping most of his snark in check. “Do you come here every night, then?”
“No.”
A beat of awkward silence passes.
“Then, what brings you here tonight?”
Cassandra considers for a moment, “Suzanne.” Her eyes are locked on a performer across the room. A crimson-red dress with white trim cascades down to the floor, accentuated by her large golden necklace and platinum blonde hair.
Her beauty emanates from her in an almost heavenly glow. Conner’s brows raise in astonishment, “How did you two meet?”
Cassandra keeps her gaze on Suzanne. “We have not met.”
He stops, turning to face Cassandra. “So you came here tonight to watch a singular woman perform, whom you have never met?”
She still pays him no attention. “I come here every night she performs.” She finally meets his eyes, “For the past few weeks, anyway.”
“That makes it more confusing.”
Cassandra chuckles in response. Another beat of silence falls between them as he watches her retain her gaze on Suzanne. A scowl crosses her face every time a gentleman gets too close.
“Have you considered speaking with her?” He offers.
She scoffs, “As if someone as esteemed as her would spare me a glance.” A small frown touches her lips.
He examines her for a few moments before leaving his spot along the wall. Pushing his way through the shrinking crowd around Suzanne, he can vaguely hear sounds of protest from Cassandra behind him.
Suzanne notices him once he enters her line of sight, already bowing before he is fully in front of her. “Lord Conner, it is an honor to have the Duke’s son in attendance.”
His mouth gapes slightly. “I am shocked you know my name.” He chuckles nervously, “I apologize that I do not know yours.”
She raises a brow, “You came to speak with me, not knowing who I am?”
He just shrugs and nods, eliciting a soft laugh from her.
“Suzanne King-Jones. But you may call me Cissie.” She holds out her hand, and he takes it, placing a brief, chaste kiss on the back of it. “I perform opera here on occasion, but most other days you can find me in a play at one of the accompanying theaters.”
Cissie brings her hand back to her side, “May I ask your intentions, Lord Conner?”
He brings his hands up, “Please, ‘Conner’ is just fine. And I came to ask if you would like to meet a friend of mine.” He gestures to a now flustered Cassandra along the far wall. “She is a fan of your work.”
Cissie grins, a new glint in her eye as she follows Conner to Cassandra. He steps to the side, ushering Cissie forward, “I introduce you to Miss Sandsmark.”
Cassandra cuts him off, “Cassie is fine.” Speaking quickly, her pupils blown wide.
Cissie examines her for a moment, a hint of recognition eventually showing. “I have seen you here quite a bit.” She states. “At almost every one of my shows for the past month.”
Cassie’s face turns a deep shade of red, and Conner has to stifle a laugh. “Well… I deeply admire your work.”
“Is that so?” Cissie’s voice drips with intrigue. She looks Cassie up and down, seeming absolutely captivated as she rakes her unrelenting gaze slowly over Cassandra. “Would you like to visit my dressing room after the show? I would love to continue our conversation.” Her tone is thick with interest.
Across from her, Cassie seems to have lost all function, nodding slowly as her mouth stays agape in an ‘O’ shape.
Cissie offers her a gentle wave goodbye as she walks through a small doorway to the side.
“What just happened?” Cassie whispers, completely stupefied.
A harsh laugh escapes Conner at the sight, “You are most welcome.” He teases.
She smiles widely in response, a giddy chuckle filling the air around her.
The crowd is now entering through the red curtains at the end of the room, so Conner holds his arm out to Cassie. “Would you like to accompany me to the performance?”
She glances at him, her smile still present. “Yes, of course.” She takes his arm, but her mind is clearly elsewhere.
Conner finds a seat for them a couple of rows back from the stage, offering a very clear view of the performers. Cassie seems almost bored beside him until Cissie finally walks on stage, her focus unrelenting the second she comes into view.
Looking around the room, he can see that most of the audience is just as enraptured as Cassie. Except for one woman who was staring directly at Conner. The same one from earlier. Dark, raven hair and pale blue eyes accented by her maroon dress. His mind cycles through every woman he can recall, but she is extremely unfamiliar. Only that she had been locked in on him since he entered the performance hall. That was the extent of any previous interaction with her.
She winks at him.
What the fuck?
He retains his gaze, watching as her smile turns seductive and motions for Conner to follow her. Without thinking, he trails behind her, an eagerness slowly overcoming him. She turns a corner down a secluded hallway, Conner still following with a new heat entering his body.
After a few more feet, he loses sight of her, a small bit of disappointment touching his chest until he feels himself get yanked, now face-to-face with the mystery woman, her body pressed between him and the wall.
“Hello.” He offers with a small crack in his voice, cringing internally.
She chuckles, “Hello.” Her voice was deep with a sound that brought Conner a familiar comfort he could not quite place.
“My name-” She puts a finger to his lips.
“I find it more pleasurable not to be attached to names.” She whispers, bringing their lips inches apart.
Conner’s mind halts, and he finds himself kissing her before he can think of any words. He closes his eyes, reveling in every swipe of her tongue against his teeth and the way that her long fingers tangled themselves in his hair.
Damn, those rake rumors may not be far off.
He puts a hand on her jaw, tilting her head to deepen the kiss and using his other hand to grab at her waist.
He opens his eyes just slightly at a small whimper from her, getting a glimpse of her black hair against her now flushed, pale skin.
She pushes him away gently, heavy breaths dancing across his cheek. Their faces are mere centimeters apart, bringing attention to the small mole she has on the corner of her eye.
Conner leans his head back just a bit further to fully capture the beauty of her icy eyes, accompanied by her silky, black hair.
But when he pulls back, her hair is no longer falling past her shoulders. Instead, it's cut short, just barely touching her ears. And those blue eyes are now more gray. Her voice is scarily similar to Tim's as she asks him, “Is something the matter?”
Just as quickly as the illusion appeared, it vanished, leaving the woman in front of him to look highly concerned.
He jumps back, drawing his hands away from her as if her skin had burned him. She tries to reach out to him, only for Conner to pull back further. All he could see now was Tim.
Tim's short hair was woven through Conner's fingers. Tim pressed against the wall of this hallway. Tim whimpering into his mouth and tracing his tongue along Conner's teeth.
Tim. Tim. Tim.
His vision starts to blur as he chokes on his heartbeat. He can vaguely register a voice trying to get his attention, but nothing is fully processed into cognitive thought.
Conner rushes back to the front entrance, his body merely moving to follow instructions: he needs to be alone.
He darts through the hallway, his mind on a singular mission. A sliver of relief just barely enters until he is met with the sight of the overcrowded foyer. The show had ended, so everybody, including all of the performers, was mingling near the bars. Drunk laughter pierced through the air, panic rising in his throat, threatening to escape with bile.
A new ambition washed over him, shoving through the crowd aimlessly, by any means necessary to find the exit. Every brush of contact with another person singes his skin, flashes of Tim entering his mind and furthering his hysteria. The laughter around him was morphing into Tim’s contagious chuckles and the soft giggles that always bring Conner comfort.
He has no sense of where he is, far too distracted with visions of Tim’s face glowing in the morning light. The crinkle of his nose when he laughs, and the way he ever so slightly bites his lip when concentrating on something, accompanied by the same furrow of his brow that Conner has been tempted on several occasions to smooth with his thumb.
Eventually, he finds his way out of the crowd, but not at the exit; he is now in a different hallway, doors lining either side of it. Without thinking, he opens the first door he sees, rushing in with a restless desire to escape the sounds of the party.
To his dismay, he is not alone in this room. But to his surprise, the other people are Cassie and Cissie, entangled in one another, locked at the lips. The sight was the perfect amount of shock to take him out of his frenzied state.
Cissie pulls back from Cassie quickly, jumping to her feet and leaving Cassie breathless in the chair.
“Ah, Conner!” The sleeve of her dress is falling off her shoulder, revealing a bite mark most likely placed there by Cassie. “Did you… Uhm..”
She fumbles with her hands, nervously looking at Conner.
“See you? Sucking each other's faces?” The two of them wince. “Yes, I saw.”
A heavy silence falls over the two women as they watch Conner move to the other side of the room, throwing himself against the corner and allowing his back to slide against the wall until he is fully seated on the ground, knees tucked to his chin.
“I would never tell anyone if that is your concern.” His voice is slightly muffled by his arms covering the lower half of his face.
They both visibly relax, giving each other a glance, seeming to have a silent conversation.
Cassie speaks up, “Care to enlighten us on why you are in Cissie’s dressing room, then?” There is only a shred of annoyance in her tone.
He sighs, “I just needed a moment away from the crowd… To gather my thoughts.”
“And what thoughts are you gathering, exactly?” Cassie is now standing, moving a few steps closer to Conner. Cissie stays where she is, brows drawn in concern.
He looks at the two of them for a minute, heavy consideration showing on his face. Was it wise to admit this to them? They barely knew each other. But, previous evidence does show that they are knowledgeable on the subject.
Conner ducks his head a bit further, choosing his words carefully. “Is it possible for a man to be… attracted to another man?”
They stare at him blankly.
“Romantically.”
Realization flashes between them, Cissie choosing to speak first. “Yes, of course. Many of the male performers tonight have their own beaus that they bring around.” A leisurely chuckle comes from her as she seems to reminisce on the other performers.
He groans, burying his face completely in the fold of his arms, then bringing his chin to rest on his forearm and letting out a huff.
Fuck.
“It is possible… that I may have an attraction to men.” He gazes off to the side, too scared to look either of the women in the eye.
“Oh. I see.” Cissie’s brows relax, tone dripping with sympathy.
Cassie looks even more confused, “Is that not something you knew before?”
He scowls, shaking his head.
She shrugs. “You could have fooled me with those rings.”
Conner disregards her comment, throwing his head up and letting it fall against the wall behind him. “But I still find myself drawn to women.”
He looks between the two of them, hopeful for an answer.
“Is there a rule somewhere that says you cannot experience attraction to both?” Cassie’s hands are on her hips, brow raised, clearly suppressing a chuckle.
Conner glares at her softly, pouting as he considers. “...I suppose not.”
“Then the matter is settled. You are captivated by men and women.” She states it so plainly that Conner is tempted to leave it at that. But it cannot be that simple. Can it?
Cissie slaps Cassie’s arm as she brushes past her, giving her a pointed look before approaching Conner in a much gentler manner.
“May I ask what brought about this revelation?” She is now crouched down to his level, taking a seat on the floor beside him.
Cassie comes around the other side, dropping to the floor, “Would that woman you left with in the middle of the show have anything to do with it?”
She remains unrelenting in her teasing, and it brings a weird amount of calmness to him, feeling much more comfortable around her. He noticeably cringes at her words, accidentally offering a silent confirmation.
Cassie lets out a snort at his reaction, a familiar ease falling between the three of them.
“She looked like Tim.” He whispers, still a bit ashamed.
Cissie’s eyes go wide, “Do not tell me you mean ‘Tim’ as in Prince Timothy Wayne?”
Cassie sits up straighter at the notion, looking at Conner with increasing interest.
He shrinks a bit under their gaze, offering a sheepish smile as he nods.
The two women erupt, Cissie giggling and gasping while Cassie lets out a string of ‘Holy shit!’s.
Cissie bumps Cassie with her shoe, scolding her for using harsh language. In her defense, Cassie says, “Give me a break, Cissie! Conner just told us he was in love with Prince Timothy Wayne.”
Cissie rolls her eyes fondly, but the words make Conner jump. “Hold on. I never said I was in love with him.”
The two women share another look, mildly perturbing Conner.
He was not in love with Tim; the notion was absolutely ridiculous.
Cassie eyes him again, “But you are attracted to him?”
Before he can consider, he finds himself admitting, “How could I not be?” Making Cassie cackle with a new excitement.
His face turns red when he realizes what he said. He finds Tim attractive. That revelation is going to make this season so much more difficult.
A knock on the door catches their attention. Cissie rises to her feet, talking for a couple of minutes with a man on the other side. When she closes the door, she is giving Conner and Cassie an apologetic look. “I am being requested by a guest, and this particular guest is far too esteemed to ignore.”
The two of them catch on, Conner standing up and offering a hand to Cassie. “No, no! You two can stay if you wish. I will be able to return in an hour or so.”
Conner looks at Cassie, then back at Cissie, before relenting, “As much as I would love to stay, I should probably be returning to the estate.” While they were extremely helpful tonight, he needs to be alone to process these feelings. At least now he knows what they are.
They look disappointed, but offer no argument. He turns to Cassie from the door with Cissie just beside him, “Now you two can resume your activities without my interruption.”
He smirks, both he and Cissie letting out a laugh at the deep red blush on Cassie’s face.
It is nearing midnight by the time he makes it back to the estate. The house is eerily quiet and still, with only a singular candle illuminating the top of the staircase. The sound of his footsteps bounces from wall-to-wall, heading straight to his bedchambers.
Relief floods through him as soon as the click of the door shutting behind him echoes through the hallway. He sheds his waistcoat, tossing it to the side before he starts to take off his trousers. A loud thunk from his now discarded trousers snaps his attention back to their spot on the floor. He puts on his nightwear before making his way over, and digging the once forgotten wooden figurines he had purchased a mere few hours ago out of his pocket.
A smile still finds its way to his lips at the simplicity of them, placing them atop the windowsill next to his bed one at a time. The final one he holds is the rotund bird, the robin. He grips it tighter, his mouth becoming dry at the thought of it. There was no way he could give this to Tim now.
Could he?
It is not like the wooden bird is an apparent declaration of love. Or… general liking? Yes. Not love.
He sighs, moving the bird to his desk, setting his new paints beside it. Tomorrow. He could paint and contemplate any implications of the gift tomorrow. Right now, sleep seems to be the best option.
Kon had just raced out of the palace, looking absolutely mortified. And while he was concerned for his friend’s well-being, Tim had more apparent issues. Such as his eldest brother, currently in his doorway, wearing a downright devious grin.
“Is there something you would like to tell me?” Dick teases, apparently refusing to offer Tim any privacy as he dresses himself for the day.
“There is nothing to tell, Dick. He just accidentally fell asleep here.” Tim shrugs, sifting through his closet.
“And here I thought I had finally figured it out.” A dramatic sigh emits from the doorway.
Tim pokes his head out, his hands faltering for a moment as he pulls a fresh blouse over his head, “Figured what out, exactly?”
“It would certainly explain a lot about your apprehension of marriage if you preferred the company of men.” Dick smirks, adding under his breath, just loud enough for Tim to hear, “You would not be the first in this family.”
Tim’s face starts burning, and an unseemly squeak escapes him as he throws his old clothing at Dick. “Just go tell B I will be down soon!” Before Dick is too far down the hallway, Tim shouts behind him, “And please leave stories of your sexual exploits to yourself!”
Wicked laughter echoes down the hall before he shuts his door. He groans internally as his brother’s words replay in his mind. The notion was absolutely ridiculous. Especially since he was quite literally on his way to court Ariana.
He finishes getting dressed, and strangely, he feels almost excited to meet with Ariana again. Despite her father’s apparent hatred, he really did enjoy talking to her. Maybe today was his chance to get an edge on the family.
Pride swells in Tim as he walks down the staircase, only for it to become shrunken at the man waiting for him at the door.
“...Jay?” He offers hesitantly.
Jason beams at him, “Well, good morning, Timbers!”
Tim looks him up and down, noticing the more ‘formal’ clothing he was wearing. “Big plans today?”
Jason nods, “Yes! I am hoping to meet my younger brother’s future wife today.” He waggles his eyebrows down at Tim.
Tim just stares, a mixture of disbelief and annoyance. “You are not accompanying me to Miss Dzerchenko’s.” He hopes he said it definitively enough that there would be no argument. But Jason was nothing if not a stubborn asshat.
“Actually, I believe I am.” Jason offers, feigning innocence. “Someone has to supervise you, and I happened to be available.”
“You volunteered, then?” Tim adds plainly.
“Of course! It is not often Prince Timothy Wayne is enraptured with a lady enough to meet with her twice.” The dramatics of Jason’s tone were a heavy reminder that Dick was his older brother.
“I have no choice in the matter, do I?” Tim shrinks a bit, already knowing the answer.
“Absolutely not.”
And with that, Tim accepts his defeat, letting Jason lead the way to the carriage. Thankfully, the ride was mostly silent. Mostly. Jason would still try to ask Tim questions about Ariana, and was relentless, even in the face of Tim’s half-hearted, one-word answers. After a long stretch of silence, he hopes that Jason has given up, but Tim has never been that lucky.
“Dickiebird tells me you had a gentleman caller this morning.”
Tim hesitates, trying to read what Jason was expecting from him. “It was just Conner.”
“Yes. ‘It was just Conner.’”
Tim glares at him, refusing to let Jason win. It only seemed to make him more eager as he added, “In your bed.”
Then “Naked.”
“He was not naked! His trousers were still on!” Tim’s face is once again a deep scarlet.
“Well, what a gentleman. Keeping your honor intact.” Jason sits up straighter, savoring his childish victory at finally getting a reaction out of his younger brother.
Tim decided to keep to himself the fact that he was the one to take Conner’s shirt off. And how, when Conner’s golden skin was exposed to the candlelight, Tim was enraptured by the heavenly glow emitting from it. As well as how he was heavily tempted to chart constellations on the several freckles dancing across Conner’s shoulders and back.
But of course, anyone in that position would find Conner hard to resist. It was simply a given fact that the man was immensely attractive; some things were just irrefutable.
The carriage slows as their dirt path changes to the gravel walkway of the Dzerchenko’s house. Ariana and her father are waiting for them outside their door, her smile bright and endearing, completely overpowering her father’s disapproving scowl.
Jason bends slightly to better whisper into Tim’s ear, “Did you cross her father in some way? He looks about ready to end your bloodline.”
Tim sighs, whispering back, “He thinks me a rake and unworthy of his daughter’s hand.”
Jason smirks, making Tim wary. “I believe I may be able to change that.” Is all he says before completely disregarding Tim at the front of the gate, and marching over to speak with Sir Dzerchenko.
Tim is too busy cautioning over Jason’s every movement that he does not notice Ariana has already approached him, and is in the middle of trying to get his attention.
“- sound alright?”
He freezes, offering a small, shameful smile. “Sorry, what did you say?”
She giggles softly, “I asked if you would like to accompany me on a walk around the yard. We can think of it as a ‘private promenade.’”
Tim can feel himself easing at the casual nature, “That sounds wonderful.” Neither of them moves first, Ariana seeming to be lost, staring into Tim’s eyes.
He smiles softly at her, a light pink flush tracing his cheeks under the attention. “Lead the way, Miss Dzerchenko.”
She blushes with slight hesitation at Tim’s offered arm. Before linking her arm with his, she glances at her father, the man offering a succinct nod, giving her permission. Tim knew what he was doing; walking arm-in-arm was considered something close to a marriage proposal. But Ariana seemed nice enough, and he felt that if he had to marry this season (which he does), he would choose her easily. So, why not make his intentions clear from the start?
He gives one last glance to Jason before beginning their stroll, feeling a bit more at ease to see Ariana’s father smiling ever so slightly at what Jason was saying. After they walk together in silence for a few minutes, admiring the calm weather, Tim remembers he should probably be getting to know the woman he is planning on marrying.
“So, Miss Dzerchenko.”
She cuts him off, “Please, you can refer to me as Ariana.”
He smiles, “Ariana. What has been your favorite part of your stay in Gotham so far?”
She ponders for a moment, the only sound between the two of them being the soft shuffle of the grass beneath their feet. “I suppose I enjoy the change in scenery the most; I love seeing different plants and animals I would not normally see in Russia.”
“How often do the brisk winters keep you from nature-watching?” He teases.
She snorts, “Not that often.”
They fall into another comfortable silence before Ariana speaks up again. “I will say, Prince Timothy, I was quite surprised to find out how little you travel.”
Tim shrugs, “I cannot deny that I enjoy the familiarity of Gotham.”
“So, then. What is your favorite thing about living here?”
He takes a moment, trying his best to come up with an honest, yet endearing answer. “Similar to you, I find myself drawn to nature at times.”
She hums in acknowledgement. “Anything specific?”
Tim pauses, his embarrassment and desire for connection fighting with one another as he says, “I know quite a bit about birds.”
Ariana raises a brow, clearly a little surprised. “Birds?”
He shrugs, “I happened to find an ornithology book and became very well-read on the subject.”
She carefully examines their surroundings, seeming to feel challenged. “Well, I may not be as involved in the subject as you, but I could tell you that the bird over there is most likely a sparrow of sorts.”
Tim follows the path with his eyes to where she is pointing at a small brown-speckled bird, “A house sparrow, I believe?” She looks back at Tim, evidently very proud of herself, when he nods to confirm her identification.
She gestures once again to another brown-speckled bird, but this one is a bit slimmer with grey streaks. “Another house sparrow.” She says smoothly.
Tim stops her before she points at another bird, “That one is actually a dunnock.” He corrects, grinning.
She turns to him, “Now you are just inventing words.”
He laughs, and she chuckles in response. “I promise I am telling the truth. Dunnocks look very similar to a house sparrow, but their body is much slimmer.”
“But it is a sparrow of sorts?” Ariana looks determined to have at least a piece of it correct.
Tim shakes his head, “Dunnocks are in a separate family: accentors.”
She looks mildly disappointed, but ultimately pleased with herself. “Then I suppose we are even.”
A warm feeling envelops him. This could work. She was endearing, intelligent, and quite pleasant to be around. He still had time to fall in love with her. And if they got married, that would give even more time for love to blossom.
Another idea crosses his mind: “Would you consider yourself an animal lover?” He asks, tone clearly indicating there was a follow-up to his question.
Ariana seems intrigued. “I find myself drawn to them on occasion. Why do you ask?”
“There is a horse race in a little over a week.” He looks at Ariana, and she is staring up at him excitedly. “I was hoping maybe you would like to accompany me?”
She gasps, “Yes, of course! I would love to.”
Her smile is so bright, and Tim feels himself smiling back. Distracted by her excitement, he does not realize they are approaching the front door to her home. She releases her grip on his arm as they get closer.
To his pleasant surprise, her father is no longer scowling at him and instead looking at him almost approvingly. Tim turns his gaze to Jason, confusion clear in his eyes. A playful salute is offered to him by his brother, and he is still practically glowing with his signature cheeky smirk.
Almost bringing Tim into a further shocked state, Ariana’s father held his hand out to him. It seems an invitation to shake it, so Tim hesitantly takes his hand. He is then offered a sincere smile from the man and given a firm, approving handshake. It takes every bit of Tim’s willpower to prevent his jaw from dropping.
They offer their goodbyes before turning back to the carriage, and once they are out of earshot, Tim nudges Jason.
“How did you manage that?” He gestures behind him toward Ariana’s still smiling father.
Jason shrugs, “It was simple, really. I just told him what a massive bookworm you are.” He eyes Tim before adding, “And I may or may not have insinuated that you are completely helpless.”
Tim scowls, “Why!?”
“He now views you as disarming. Non-threatening. And if you did your part, he will soon be hearing about how happy you make his daughter.”
As much as he hated it, he had to admit it was a decent idea from Jason. In fact, it was probably the only way to get her father’s approval.
“I suppose I should be thanking you.”
Jason agrees easily. “Yes. You should.”
They make the rest of their way to the carriage in silence, “Well? Are you going to thank me?” Jason asks just as he is reaching to open the carriage door.
Tim looks at him with a brow raised, “I already did?”
Jason laughs heartily, “That was not a formal expression of gratitude.”
He opens the door, making his way into the carriage before Tim. Before Tim steps inside, Jason reaches for the handle, blocking Tim’s path with his arm.
He sighs, watching Jason from the blocked door. “Thank you, Jay.” He spits out.
Despite the harsh tone, it seems to satisfy his brother enough as Jason returns his arm to his side. “You are most welcome, Timmy.”
The grin Jason has on his face is bringing a seething rage to Tim. He desperately wants to slap it off of him, but relents, deciding to take the higher road.
After he takes his seat and closes the door behind him, he turns his head away from Jason. Through his window, he can see Ariana waving at them in her doorway. As the carriage moves forward, Tim smiles and waves back at her.